Heroic
by PitFTW
Summary: To witness the fall of a hero is to watch the fall of an angel. There is nothing more terrible in this world. Cardverse!AU


Heroic

**A/N: Ah, I managed to pump out a brief oneshot after a long, long, _long_ hiatus. I do hope you enjoy! **

**Summary: To witness the fall of a hero is to watch the fall of an angel. There is nothing more terrible in this world. **

**Disclaimer: Nothing owned!**

**Pairing(s): USUK**

* * *

He didn't understand.

It wasn't supposed to end up like this. When they had dreamed together, they had dreamed of a world where they would rule side-by-side. King and Queen. Conqueror and Spy. They were to be the ones that would usher this world into a new day, a new age. No longer would there be Clubs, Spades, Hearts, and Diamonds; there would only be one kingdom, one world, one nation. There would only be one Regime.

Why? Why did this happen? How did he not see this? What did he not see? How was it that, after all they had been through, after everything they had witnessed, and after every drop of blood they had shed, it all came down to this?

The gallows loomed before him, beckoning, almost singing as it groaned in the wind. Each wooden stair creaked and moaned beneath his footfalls. He could feel the sword at his back, taste the blood in his mouth from where he had fallen and they- the guards- had kicked. He could see nothing beyond the simple sack- the insult- that covered his eyes, but he could hear them; the citizens' silence was louder than any war drum. Their soundless voice alone was enough to confirm the roar his in ears, the screech of his heart.

He was going to die.

(Oh dear, did he leave his scones in the oven again? Perhaps that was why the air smelled so foully of smoke.)

But _why_? He had loved his king. He had followed him to every battle, eagerly listened to every plan. Once upon a time, he had hung off the man's arms and watched with rapture as sweet words tumbled from perfect lips. He was a dreamer, a doer, a man who deserved the world but only wanted what little it gave him. He was no prince, and yet, every inch of himself simply radiated the grace of a king. He was destined to be great- he was sure of it- and one day, no doubt, the people of Spades would call him the Hero King. And they would hail Arthur- yes, yes, that was his name- they would hail Arthur as their most beloved Queen.

They had met along the riverbed, where the trees bowed to the east and the sun smiled at the west. He had been playing in the brook, a mere child then, while his future queen had just turned thirteen. He was young, impressionable, and pure; just like an angel. His white cotton smock and his shoes were getting dirty from the mud of the riverbank, but he did not care; he simply continued playing, laughing, and smiling.

His light was one that illuminated the queen's world. It was bright, yet gentle, addictive, yet gratifying. Every single day, the queen would walk out and dirty his shoes in the brook, cast off his hat and lay it in the shadow of the trees. They skipped rocks, they searched for fish, they wove flower crowns. They were two children, one royal and one peasant, wishing to simply escape it all. The young queen came to know his companion as a dreamer; he hoped to be the hero of all the Four Kingdoms, to one day train as a page, a squire, and finally a knight, so that he would one day bow before the queen and be worthy of his title: Hero of Spades.

The queen knew differently; he was destined for something so much greater than days spent on the training grounds with wooden weapons and straw-stuffed dummies. He deserved flying banners and singing trumpets, with his every whim bowed to and carried out. He deserved a place beyond this earth, beyond the sky, beyond the heavens themselves. He was an angel, and no angel belonged to the earth; he would sit beside the queen, as the Hero King, the man who would bring peace to the Four Kingdoms and unite them under one rule at last.

(The steps were creaking louder now, screaming its protests beneath his strong leather boot. He could hear the wind calling his name, the sun scoffing at his face. He must have looked quite pathetic now: a queen without a country. A queen without a king.)

Ten years passed and through stormy winters and blazing summers, through sickening springs and weeping autumns, he waited. He waited for the day when he would at last share his throne with a king. The Jack was wise and brave, possessing a strength all unto his own, but he knew that he would never do; he needed a strong king, one who would guide the kingdom into an age beyond its Golden Age. He needed his Hero King.

Trumpets sang and banners flew. The castle sparkled blue and white. It was a welcoming, a celebration, a party to show all of Spades- all of the world- that at last, the King of Spades had arrived. Their savior, their angel, was coming. After years of being abroad, learning the ways of the Four Kingdoms and the sword, he was coming back at last. People flocked to the entrance of the castle, watching as the carriage hobbled over the cornerstones and gently rocked to the side. At the forefront was their Queen of Spades; the queen who yearned long for his Angel King.

(Angel, angel, angel. What he wouldn't give to hear his angel sing again.)

But something had changed. Something had changed from the moment Arthur placed the crown upon his king's head, the moment that he presented his new king with his gilded sword. The king was sweet, yes, and kind. His smile lit up the room and his laughter rang through the halls. But there was a spider within the Halls of Spades, a cruel creature whose words were deviously sugary, and whose smiles and eyes were cold. It was a Spider King that possessed a cruel beauty, beauty cruelly ripped away from the corpse of a hero and worn by the spider as he sat upon his throne.

But he loved him. Oh, how he loved him. He loved him even as he was forced to sit and watch as, one by one, his own citizens were carried off to their deaths. One man was thrown to the lions; he continued feeding his king sweets. One woman had her organs ripped out and salted; he sang a little ditty for his king. One child was thrown into a crypt, to meet his death among the corpses of the nobles of his fallen house; he grasped his king close and screamed his name into the night.

(Was that a bird singing? He thought that Alfred had had those exterminated long ago. Something about their singing giving him headaches. Oh dear, oh dear, he would have to remember to remind the executioner that he would have to be sure to continue exterminating the birds. There was nothing worse than an irritated King of Spades, after all.)

Perhaps a touch of madness had settled within him during those few, happy months. Perhaps a sense of dread had lodged itself in him, and refused to let go. Whatever had happened, he had been too blind to see what was happening, too deaf to hear the cries of his people. He only saw the steel of the battlefield, tasted the blood of the Diamonds Royal Court as they fell to his king's blade. He had felt nothing as he watched the light fade from King Francis' eye, witnessed the sweet Queen Lily reach out for her brother, Jack Vash, for the last time, only to grow weak at the very last moment. He never liked that frog anyways.

(Speaking of frogs, he was quite sure that they had served him frog legs in the dungeon. Bloody terrible ones too. Honestly, if they were going to feed him that slop, they should've at least included strong tea with it.)

He was not there to witness Clubs or Hearts, but he felt them all the same. Clubs, the stronghold, fell first, because the Jack was weak and the Queen was strong, and the King was himself mad. From what he had heard, they had stormed the castle and easily defeated the oncoming guards. Jack Roderich would have fallen almost immediately, the weakling, if not for Queen Elizabeta fighting back with all she had. She was deadly with a blade and even deadlier with a pan, a powerful woman who had lived her life on the battlefield.

(Oh dear, perhaps he ought to request the guard to go check the pan of cream he knew he had left on the stove. That was just the problem with these executions; they always happened at the worst times!)

King Ivan, King Ivan, King Ivan had fallen. King Ivan was no match for their armies. His smile was wide, almost terrifying, and his strength was almost unmatched. But, in a duel against the King of Spades, King Ivan fell, fell, fell. He fell and he did not recover, and as his sisters wailed and wrung their hands, Spades took his mantle and claimed victory. Diamonds and Clubs were now theirs; Hearts was the last to stand.

Clubs was the stronghold, and Hearts was the sword. They had been preparing from the day Spades stormed the Castle of Diamonds. Jack Feliciano had offered surrender, because he knew there would be no other way. Queen Kiku and King Ludwig had too flown white, and it was without a fight that Spades entered the castle. But they were fools, every single one of them; the color white did nothing against blue, and white was always stained by red. From what he had heard, his king had laughed as he slew the three royals where they stood; they deserved it, after all, for being so very stupid.

(These stairs were obnoxious. At the very least, they could've fixed them up a bit before he came. Oh dear! What if they had neglected to clean these things!?)

Light pierced the dark as the guard removed his sack, throwing it to the side. He blinked twice and looked up, noticing for the first time that there was a rope being tied around his neck. And there were people here, too, all milling about, looking up at him, then down to the ground, then all around, anywhere but his face. He smiled at them and lifted his hand to wave, only to really a small problem: they were tied, rather tightly, behind his back. He frowned, his brows furrowing, then shrugged, and sighed. Honestly, how was he to fulfill his duties as Queen of Spades when he was all tied up like this?

The trapdoor beneath his feet creaked softly as he stepped on it. He looked down for a moment to admire it, with its finally oiled hinges and beautifully polished wood. There was a slight indent where many a criminal had stepped upon it, but he made sure to avoid it; he didn't want any of their nasty little bugs getting on his good boots, after all. Once he was settled, he let out a small sigh and looked up, green eyes searching, trying to see if they could pluck out the blue from the crowd.

Oh, but of course, he was standing up above, an angel in the heavens. He smiled up at the blue, just as the blue glared down at him. Oh dear, oh dear, he knew that dinner wasn't exactly up to par last night, but he supposed that the lovemaking of afterwards was enough. It was a pity that it was not; he had bought the dress just to show off to him and everything.

(Speaking of which, where was that dress? He would have liked to be buried in it, if possible. There was no sense in being buried in those stiff old starch shirts he always had to wear.)

"Arthur Kirkland, former Queen of Spades," his king's voice was high and cold. It carried all around the courtyard. "You are hereby charged with treason and plotting against the crown. For that reason, you are sentenced to be hanged." there was a pause, a brief hesitation, then he continued, "Spades does not look happily upon the man who turns his back on his kingdom. And I..." here, the blue eyes shone with a dark, feverish light. "I do not look kindly upon the man who attempts to poison his king."

(Now how was he supposed to know that the stuff he stuck into his scones would cause the death of poor, dear Jack Yao? He _told_ the servants to give them to his king!)

"Do you have any last words?"

He paused for a moment, thinking of all that he could say. What would be his immortal last words as Queen of Spades? Perhaps something heroic was in order, or perhaps something sweet and romantic. Perhaps he would go for the proclamation of his innocence, but honestly, who would believe that? And after all of this trouble of going through with the preparations for the execution and everything, he simply couldn't allow this to all go to waste! And thus, he shook his head, smiling up at his king, green eyes half-lidded and content.

He watched as the young man he had long come to see as his life, his love, his everything, looked away. For a moment, blue eyes were hidden from him, replaced only by the crystalline glistening of tears. Oh dear, was his king crying? He of all people, of all angels, should not be sad.

"Artie... you were my hero... my angel... once upon a time..."

Now what was that supposed to mean? Oh! Perhaps it was a hint! Perhaps it was a hint as to what this "execution" really meant. It was all a joke, a silly little prank in celebration of the new Regime. Oh, oh, oh! That was it! Of course that was it! Any moment now, Alfred would call off the execution, and he would fly up there and take his king by his side. His king would lean over and rain kisses all over his dear queen, just like before. And then, he would sweep the Queen of Spades off his feet, and carry him into the bedroom, where they-


End file.
